Heartstrings
by LunaStellaCat
Summary: Charlie Weasley gets an unexpected gift on his birthday. Hope you liked it. Thanks for reading. Any reviews or critiques would make my day. For anyone who ever took the awkward first step.


Written for the HSWW: Challenges & Assignments

Muggle Media: Love Actually, Write a cliche love story.

Assignment 10: Prompts mistletoe (object), "I missed you." (dialogue). Everything can be solved with a liberal application of chocolate.

Character Showcase: Charlie Weasley. Prompts: burn, bright (words) Dragon Sanctuary (location), friendship (genre).

A snowball hit the window. Charlie, cursing the cold, buried his head under the pillow and decided to sleep in. It was Friday, his birthday, and he really needed a day. People scurried downstairs. Rolf and his family arrived late last night, although Charlie missed them and went straight to bed. Thanks to an incident with a Welsh Green and a hybrid, Charlie literally sprinted in a marathon putting out fires and dealing with local Muggle law enforcement; it got blamed on an electric fire.

After taking a quick shower, Charlie pulled a fleece coat over his Heartstrings Sanctuary shirt and jeans, and ran downstairs as someone pounded on the door. Usually he shared the place with dragonologists, researchers, naturalists and the like, but they'd all gone home for the holidays. Charlie stayed to tend the hearth. Charlie, hoping he pulled off the sleepy Muggle act, opened the door and racked his brain for the inspector.

The question froze on his lips. "May I…?"

An olive-skinned woman wrapped in a traveling cloak lowered her hood and shook her head so dark tresses fell down her back. Jayne Seymour, a gypsy who worked outside the boundaries of the sanctuary, saved Charlie's life countless times over the years; she brought him back from the brink of death and stayed Death's scabby hand a little longer. (She phrased it like this, not Charlie, and he lived by her sayings because he lived more than half life his life in Romania.) Charlie handed Death his proper personification and hoped never to greet the fellow on his doorstep. Well, it was inevitable, but he could wait a long time.

Jayne came along with a healthy dose of guilt to swallow with a helping of stupidity. Charlie only went to her when he needed her. Strictly speaking, she was a Muggle who practiced simple gypsy magic, though she held her own amongst the magical community. Ostracized by her so-called family when she dismissed the hardcore faith and customs, she found a home in Deva and taught herself a little of this and a little of that before joining ranks with the humble clinic.

"Jayne," he said, staring at her as she rested a hand on her belly.

Charlie counted back on his fingers and failed to sync his jumbled thoughts with the calendar because last April, she'd healed an injury on Charlie's chest before sending him on his way.

He shrugged this off, switching casually to Romani and pointing out the Scamander twins. Lysander and Lorcan, chasing their father. Charlie cupped his hands over his mouth, going back to English. "Scamander. Scamander!"

Rolf waved, backtracking and catching Lysander before the little boy planted his face in the snow. Lorcan clung onto his dad's leg for dear life. Rolf might've been chubby back in the day, but chasing after dragons, and creatures, and beasties fit him out as a stocky fellow. Charlie missed out on Christmastime at the Burrow this year. With his time divided among the Scamander Foundation, the magi-zoo, and the paper, Rolf needed to escape to Romania. When they made their way over, Rolf set Lysander down and magicked lanterns out of thin air.

"Charlie, Jayne." Rolf set one of the lanterns in the windowsill. The boys and Rolf wished Charlie a happy birthday.

"Yes, I'm getting old," said Charlie dismissively, offering an arm to Jayne He promised to be back later, though he gave no time, and walked with Jayne towards the sanctuary. He pointed at her, and Jayne fed him some story, which Charlie didn't know whether to believe, though he set it aside for the moment. "Are you well?"

Jayne nodded, disguising her face in way he recognized. "Charlie."

"The kid is not mine," he said flatly, warding her off like he'd seen the elder Romani in the streets. Jayne laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. She'd grown up in an orphanage, cast off by the Muggle government, and adopted a last name she'd found in a history book. Charlie pressed his lips to her forehead. "I love you, Jayne."

"You always say such things," she said, stopping outside a bakery. She met the baker outside the door, and the baker, seeing her pant like a dog, served her coffee and pastries in no time flat. He tipped his pipe to Charlie and tossed him a small ball of red yarn.

"What's this?" Charlie tossed the ball in the air and caught it with deft fingers.

"It's for the child," said Jayne, surprised. Charlie, bemused, pocketed the trinket and muttered about Jayne's friends in the community. "I deliver him remedies for arthritis."

"Good gypsy," said Charlie, touching a finger to her nose and sipping his coffee.

"It's Romani." Jayne corrected him for the umpteenth time.

Charlie might be alone, yet he wasn't a lonely man. He stayed in the confines of the sanctuary and nursed a soft spot for Jayne since they met at the makeshift hospital. Instead of prying, he wandered why any fool could abandon such a gorgeous girl. Plain, Jayne really wasn't much to look at, yet he saw something special beneath the surface. They stopped underneath every threshold, and he decided on a game, kissing her every time they passed by a wreath or by some mistletoe.

Jayne, playing along, softened. When they stopped outside the encampment, she pressed him against the wall. She sighed, catching her breath when he whispered seductively in her ear.

"I missed you, sweet Jayne." A scene played itself out in his mind; he imagined taking her back to his place and making love by the fireside. The kisses turned wet and insistent and Charlie, not liking the way this headed, stepped back. "What's wrong?"

"It's not … it's not you," said Jayne, wiping away her tears with her sleeve. Charlie busied himself with hacking up meat. Jayne stayed back, especially when Charlie released the temperamental Welsh Greens and flipped the the deadbolt.

"Who showed you your first dragon?" Charlie placed his hand on the wall, and the enclosure fell in upon itself. If she wasn't ready to talk, he'd wait. The dragons raced into an encampment as a mixture of sleet and rain fell from the sky and mowed down sheep.

"Mr. Scamander," she said, fascinated as the largest and the smallest dragon flipped a burning ewe into the air and shared breakfast. Charlie chuckled, waiting for the details. "I fixed his trachea and his legs one night and he invited me over for sarmale and a private exhibit."

"Damnit, Scamander's got style. Does this mean I have to compliment him?" Why hadn't Charlie thought of that? Charlie snapped his fingers, rather disappointed Rolf beat him to the finish line. Jayne, giggling, shook her head, reminding him Rolf had a wife. He pointed at the large black creature as it took to the skies and snatched a ewe from the smaller green dragon. "She's Hestia. The one Paulo hates?"

Jayne recited, or rather butchered, although Charlie couldn't tell, a string of Portuguese swear words and curses. Paulo spoke English all right, yet his vocabulary shrunk down to the necessities whenever he got inches within meeting Death.

"Hestia guards the hearth." Jayne tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and bit her lip as they strode onto the embankment. They had raised their voices over the commotion of the creatures. She recited details off matter-of-factly, like she already swallowed the bitter pill or potion; Jayne adopted this whenever she delivered bad news to a patient. She fed Charlie medical jargon, which went way over his head, and she tried again. "It … he doesn't have a nose."

"The baby? You don't know that." Charlie crossed his arms, defiant. Jayne led him back inside, waited patiently for him to finish his work, and paced back and forth. "Some gypsy claimed it's cursed because you're not in the inner circle?"

"No, Charlie. Charlie!" Jayne took her wallet from underneath her cloak and showed him three greyscale photographs.

Charlie took them from her, furious and scared. It surprised him Muggles possessed tools like tools, and only one shot showed it clearly. The photographs, dated months ago, scared him. "How … how does this happen?"

"Life happens." Jayne leaned against the wall, shrugging off her cloak so he could warm it with a Heating Charm. She actually laughed mirthlessly when he asked about the father, grasping at nothing for answers. She'd sought out a midwife, a Romani who lived by simple knowledge, but this lead to nowhere, "For everything we get right, there are countless things ready to go wrong."

"You sound like Scamander," grumbled Charlie.

"Somebody ought to. You only listen to him!" She shot back, sticking her tongue out.

"Get a second opinion."

"Charlie, I can't afford to leave the clinic, darling," she said, gesturing around the encampment. "People don't listen to gypsies."

"I do." Charlie handed off his responsibilities to another handler before they headed back home. He didn't like the idea of her staying alone in the heart of the city. "Stay with me."

"Don't you have this rule against girls staying at the house? One night stands and the like?" She rushed through this last part awkwardly like a shy little girl.

"My house. And you're not a girl," he said, taking off his coat and draping it over her shoulders. They discussed this no nose thing at length, and Charlie admired her for keeping her emotions in check. But anger boiled right onto the surface when she acted defeated. "Why would you tell me? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. Charlie, you can't fix this." Jayne stood her ground and stamped her foot when he waved her opinion away.

"Watch me," he said furiously through gritted teeth. Charlie stormed back into the house, slamming the doors and ignoring her attempts to sweep this away underneath the rug. Rolf told the boys to head upstairs. Jayne only backed down when Charlie got in her face. "What about me? If Scamander or me were lying dead on a table, you'd stop at nothing."

Jayne crossed her arms. "What about you?"

"Charlie," said Rolf warningly, taking out his wand. "You need to take a moment."

"I like … I love … you are very dear to me," said Charlie, punching the wall, though he regretted this a moment later when a tingling, sharp pain shot up his arm. He pointed at Rolf who opened his mouth, closed it, and started to say something. "Shut up, Scamander."

Rolf shrugged and turned to Jayne, all bright and conversational. "You haven't had to save my life in, like, five years. Impressive, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Let's not die because you've got really cute kids. And I'll do this … this crying thing." Jayne, blinking furiously at Charlie, burst into tears.

"And you broke her," said Rolf, clapping Charlie on the shoulder as he went to hang stockings by the fireplace and tend to the fire.

Charlie cursed, throwing his hands in the air and storming out of the house. He wanted to find this man, whoever she'd been with, and punch his face in. Rolf came out minutes later with beer bottles; his eyes pinged back and forth as Charlie tossed snowballs at a snowman in the distance with his good hand.

"Charlie. She's scared and needs someone." Rolf raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. Rolf didn't come right out and say it, but Charlie gathered he knew about the kid. He moved his hand back and forth, not really committing to anything. "If you offer her houseroom, Jayne's not your sister nor your girlfriend, which means you're not technically breaking the rule, although if you wanted an opinion …"

"I'd ask for it," said Charlie fairly. He took the beer, stopped by the door and turned to face him, running his injured hand through his hair. "You took Jayne to go see dragons?"

Rolf shrugged, downing half his beer.

"Well played indeed, Scamander." They headed back inside. Jayne sat on the couch sandwiched between the two boys. Charlie went upstairs, rummaged in his bedside cabinet after a red jewelry box and went downstairs. He offered it to Jayne along with a Christmas card dated three years ago. "This isn't a ring."

"Okay," said Jayne delicately, reaching for the card first. Charlie nodded, wondering how he managed to get on so well with women. He opened the box, walked around the couch and placed a circular pendant around her neck and fumbled with the clasp.

"If you cry…" Charlie waited for her to read the card.

"You wrote this when the kid died, the seventeen-year-old," said Jayne softly.

"You are my people." Charlie brushed her hair aside, a man of few words, he put a lot into this gesture. Charlie handed over the red charm.

Jayne nodded, cleared her throat, and patted him clumsily on the cheek. Charlie certainly wouldn't bother with saying this everyday. Jayne went back to her reading her book to the boys whilst Rolf knocked up something in the kitchen. Rolf whipped up his aunt's hot cocoa by hand and insisted everything went down better with chocolate. Charlie enjoyed his birthday, thinking it was another day, and he wandered about the gypsy as he opened his beer. This might lead to something more.


End file.
